


I try to picture me without you (but I can't)

by tigriswolf



Series: comment_fic drabbles [271]
Category: Historical RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Battle, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Memories, Past Violence, Reincarnation, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-23 16:09:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4883224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigriswolf/pseuds/tigriswolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He hears, whispered on the wind, <i>He too is Alexander</i> and mutters, “But my name is George.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	I try to picture me without you (but I can't)

**Author's Note:**

> Title: I try to picture me without you (but I can't)  
> Disclaimer: … they’re sorta mine? in this incarnation, at least. title from Fall Out Boy  
> Warnings: references to canon character death, violence/battles  
> Pairings: Alexander/Hephaestion  
> Rating: PG  
> Wordcount: 670  
> Point of view: third  
> Prompt: Historical RPF. any. _we will never be royals_

He dreams of deserts and elephants, of battles and blood, of a faceless man he loves more than life itself.

He listens to dry history lectures and devours dry history texts and watches documentaries and films, and thinks, over and over and over again, _This is wrong_. 

He hears, whispered on the wind, _He too is Alexander_ and mutters, “But my name is George.” 

.

George is the youngest son of an insurance salesman and a fairly successful poet, with two sisters – his oldest sister, Harriet, becomes an Olympic gold medalist in swimming, and his older sister, Nancy, teaches math in public school. George has no idea what do with his life, but he does find history fascinating. 

He majors in it at college, and then goes on to grad school, focusing his thesis on how history is wrong about Alexander the Great. 

.

He hadn’t been popular in high school but neither had he been bullied. He’d never been truly athletic or anything, but he and his sisters all took self-defense, and for some reason, George excelled. He researched martial arts on his own time, astonishing the instructor with moves far beyond his skills. 

He dreams of dying, sometimes. It hurts. It hurts but the greatest pain is knowing he’s leaving that faceless man to live alone. 

(The greatest pain is knowing, somehow, that the man won’t live for long.)

.

George’s thesis doesn’t rock the academy on any sort of level. He still isn’t satisfied, though, so he goes for a Ph.D. 

.

He still dreams of deserts. Of kings and queens, of gods who walk with men. Of a horse untamable except by one man, a man whose name tastes like blood and hope on his lips. 

_He too is Alexander_ , a son of the gods tells a conquered queen in the greatest city in the world. _He too is Alexander_ , and George wakes in tears, reaching for someone who has never been there. 

.

George meets Vince at a party thrown by his mother, in celebration of becoming Dr. Tomaras. His dissertation ruffled far more feathers than his thesis had, but he’d also proven that too much of what is known of Alexander the Great is incorrect. What truly happened, he cannot prove – but he has proven that no one else can, either. 

Vince is the son of a friend of a friend of his father’s; he works with horses, training them as therapy animals, occasionally helping wounded ones heal. George spends most of the party tucked away in a corner with him, just talking. 

They exchange numbers; Vince had only been in town for a meeting about a horse, and happened to have extra time to attend the party. He’ll be leaving in the morning. George doesn’t want to see him go but Vince smiles at him, promising to text soon. 

And he does. There is a text waiting on George’s phone when he wakes, a smiley face with the words, _told you so_. 

.

George finds work as a researcher, shuffling between three museums on the East Coast. He’s kept busy arguing with some of the biggest historians in the world. He texts daily with Vince, about anything and everything, and when Harriet gets engaged, George calls Vince during his lunch hour and dithers about for fifteen minutes before Vince says, “Just ask whatever you called to ask.” 

After taking a deep breath, George asks, “Will you go to my sister’s wedding with me? As my date.” 

Vince laughs softly. “Of course I will.” 

.

He still dreams of deserts. Of forests filled with death, of elephants and horses, of blood and pain. He wakes screaming sometimes, in a language he barely recognizes. 

Vince has nightmares of his own, which are frighteningly similar to George’s. They could probably talk to someone about it, get the dreams interpreted, but George, staring into Vince’s eyes as they both refuse to sleep, is pretty certain he’s figured it out. 

_He too is Alexander_ , George thinks, wrapping his arms around Vince, curling in as close as he can.


End file.
